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Only problem is, that requires something I’m very, very terrible at: small talk.
I feel that
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Fun is hard to have when you have lifelong anxiety, when new places and people make your throat close and your chest tighten, when everywhere you go, you’re told you carry a family name and its reputation on your shoulders, that there’ll be hell to pay if you fail it.
That woman is a tattooed tornado of flying cocktails and unsolicited astrological commentary.
“Of course. It’s so much better texting, when I have ample time to overanalyze every sentence I write, rather than overanalyze it through in-person conversation.”
Relatable
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He’s diving right in, which is how I love to communicate. My relief is a long, slow exhale. I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to engage in mind-numbing introductory small talk.
It’s like the way I am isn’t enough of one thing & is too much of another. Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong anywhere & if I was only more of this or less of that, I would.
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Dammit. First, he’s a baby doctor. Now, he rescues zombie cats in their hour of undead need. Ugh.
I’m very quick to observe a person’s facial or vocal changes, but making sense of those shifts is a struggle. It takes courage to ask for help understanding them.
“I don’t see you differently. I see you better.”
It hits me, as inspiration always does, suddenly, overwhelmingly, consuming my thoughts.
Relatable
“Don’t downplay your work,” she says fiercely. “Don’t make yourself small just because someone else has.”
I don’t want to kiss Beatrice Wilmot under false pretenses. I want to kiss her simply for kissing’s sake. No angle to it, no vengeful intent. And I have no idea if Bea will ever want what I want. Real, not fake. Just us.
“My fake boyfriend isn’t supposed to ruin me for everyone else,” I whisper. Jamie’s eyes fall shut as he drops his forehead to mine. “Sometimes, Beatrice, I want to ruin you for everyone else.”
Oh my heart
“Honestly, Beatrice. One of these days we’re going to manage a public outing without a bodily incident.”
“You’re not just a talented artist. You’re seriously good at chess. You love the prickly creatures of the world. You’re genuine and creative. You give people permission to be themselves rather than what the world tells them they should be. Maybe that’s not summed up on a résumé or a test score the way my strengths are, but you have gifts, Bea, and gifts like yours matter.”
“You know it’s okay, right? For someone to see the best in you. For them to like the things you’re way too hard on yourself for.”
“I’m saying, you’re the best kind of chaos I’ve ever met. And while chaos used to terrify me, you make me crave it. I’m saying, even though this is an absurd situation we’ve backed ourselves into … I’d do it again in a heartbeat because it’s given me you.”
“How could I not want you?” He bends and gives me the gentlest kiss, then whispers against my lips, “You’re everything I never knew I wanted.”
You’re the best thing in my life, I want to tell her. You’re safe and real and perfectly imperfect. We started as a lie, and now we’re the truest thing I’ve ever known.
“That’s because I was a tongue-tied, anxious mess, looking at the most overwhelmingly beautiful, sensual woman I’d ever seen. Of course I was a first-rate ass.”
That’s how they work, manipulators, possessive types. They cut you off, one by one, from the people who love you, who know the real you and make you feel good. And then they break you down until all you want is their approval, their presence—until they’re your whole world and you’re alone.”
He smells like sweat and rain and Jamie, and it’s that moment, right then, when I know, as surely as I know my name: I love him.
“I want to watch you paint,” I tell her, “and light up from within. I want nights at home, holding you on the couch with nothing else to do. I want whatever you’ll give me and then some, because I’m greedy. Because every time you show me a new part of you, I want more.”
